


Pauses

by Angelci5



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:52:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelci5/pseuds/Angelci5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after a difficult op, and Doyle mis-interprets the reason for Bodie’s behaviour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pauses

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009.

Noise… there’s too much noise. All around him the muffled shouts of other agents merge with the screaming from civilians until it’s just excruciating white noise.

Doyle’s weapon is drawn, both hands gripping tightly, arms locked straight as he desperately tries to find his target. But the fog is too thick and the screams too loud... nothing is clear. He glances around for Bodie but can’t see him, can’t _sense_ him, knows then that he isn’t nearby.

Doyle swings left slightly, then right, straining to see, but it’s useless and the panic starts to tighten its grip in his chest.

Then a movement catches his eye... There! A child running right across in front of him... a small boy distraught and terrified, tears streaming down his cheeks as he runs as fast as he can. And as though it’s all happening in slow motion Doyle sees, behind the boy, following him like a heat seeking missile, the glinting bronze of a bullet.

Desperate to run towards the boy, to do something, _anything_ , that might save him, Doyle finds he’s unable to move, can’t even shout… he can only watch helplessly as the bullet closes in on its objective.

Closer and closer it flies towards the small, fragile back, until it’s mere inches from impact... And it’s at that moment, with an abrupt blood-chilling horror that Doyle realises, the bullet has come from his own gun...

oOo

Doyle wakes with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest. _Fuck._

It’s barely dawn, judging by the semi-darkness... so much for catching up on some kip. He turns to look at Bodie, hoping he hasn’t disturbed him. No, he’s still asleep, facing the other way... but then he stirs and Doyle snaps his eyes shut again as Bodie rolls over towards him.

Doyle needs a few minutes to himself, for the echoes of the dream still too vivid in his mind to fade a bit... Because if Bodie sees his eyes he’ll know, know that Doyle’s still agonising over yesterday, and the silly bastard will only worry, and try and chase the shadows away.

Doyle concentrates on his breathing, making it slow and steady. He can feel the weight of Bodie’s gaze on him and knows the exact shade of early morning blue it’ll be...

Bodie’s looking at him for too long, though, clearly knows he’s faking it. Doyle can almost hear the bloody cogs whirring as Bodie debates whether to say something or not.

Finally the gaze leaves him, but instead of relief, Doyle feels... a loss... like he’s been stripped of a blanket.

He hears Bodie get up, put on his dressing gown and leave the room. No doubt going for coffee and a piss, though probably not in that order.

Doyle gives up on the pretence of sleep and turns onto his back, one arm bent behind his head, and stares up at the ceiling. The bedroom is cast in a grey light, seeping in around the edges of the curtains.

Bodie returns several minutes later, two mugs carefully held out in front of him to minimise slopping.

“Morning!” he says, too bright, too cheery, fooling neither of them.

Doyle glances at the alarm clock and then back at Bodie. “Only just... Shit the bed, did you?”

“What a charming turn of phrase, Doyle… remind me which finishing school you went to?”

“Not too many of them in Derby.”

“I’d never’ve guessed.”

“And since when were your ears so sensitive, anyway?” asks Doyle.

Bodie ignores him. “Here you go.” He places the coffee on the bedside table.

Doyle picks it up and takes a few cautious sips of the hot liquid. He watches Bodie as he walks round the bed, puts his own mug down and takes off his robe, shivering slightly as his skin reacts to the chilly air, before he slips back down under the covers.

“Could take the bikes out today,” Bodie suggests casually, taking a sip of his own coffee.

Doyle knew Bodie would do this, try and cheer him up. “Nah, don’t fancy it,” he replies curtly, and puts his mug down a bit too vigorously, causing coffee to slosh over the sides.

“We could find a nice stretch of country road and really open up the-”

“I said I don’t fancy it,” Doyle says firmly, trying to keep his temper in check. He doesn’t need this, Bodie trying to jolly him out of a mood like he’s bloody five years old.

Bodie puts his coffee down too, and rolls onto his side to face Doyle. “How about going down the range, then?” he says.

“You think I need the practise? After yesterday?” Doyle can’t mask his annoyance. “Quite like a day off from bloody shooting things.” He doesn’t look at Bodie as he speaks.

Bodie props himself up on one arm. “Forget about yesterday, Ray, it’s done.”

“Oh yeah, the Bodie School of Philosophy, just forget it and move on to the next job, right?” Doyle sneers, staring at the ceiling. He’s right, Doyle knows he’s right, but still...

Bodie, blessed with more patience than all the bloody saints put together, doesn’t rise to the bait. “You had no choice, it was him or you... Any one of us would’ve done the same.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t anyone else, was it… it was _me_ that shot him!” Doyle replies furiously.

Bodie just waits, sees Doyle’s outburst for what it is.

Doyle takes a deep breath and, because he needs to say it out loud, in a calmer voice says, “He was just a kid, Bodie, barely in his teens... ‘s not right.”

Bodie runs a hand over Doyle’s chest, slowly, and with deliberation. “Never is, mate.” His hand stays on Doyle, brushing back and forth, and Doyle likes it... the feel of it, of Bodie touching him.

“Tell you what,” Bodie continues, “we’ll go for a run...”

Doyle pulls a face.

“...have a couple of pints after-”

“The weekend before Christmas?" Doyle snaps, before he can stop himself. “Must be joking, everywhere’s gonna be heaving.”

“All right,” Bodie’s patience suddenly seem to vanish and he whips his hand away and drops onto his back. “You decide what you want to do, then let me know,” he says sharply.

Silence reigns, lying stubbornly between them.

 _Shit._ Doyle didn’t mean to do this. Yesterday was fucking awful, for all of them, and he shouldn’t take it out on Bodie, not when he’s just trying to help... And Doyle knows he gave Bodie a bit of a scare, when he paused fractionally before pulling the trigger...

And suddenly, Doyle has a flash of understanding. _Stupid, selfish bastard_ , he berates himself, as he realises he’s got it completely the wrong way round...

It's not _his_ shadows Bodie’s trying to chase away, it’s his own.

Doyle turns to look at Bodie. “Sorry,” he says, offering an apology wrapped in a sheepish smile.

“Forget it,” Bodie says, and smiles back.

“Had a shit night’s sleep... and this dream...” Doyle shrugs slightly, knowing he doesn’t have to explain. “Just that kid... didn’t deserve to die… can’t help wondering what kind of life he had growing up...”

“I can’t help wondering what if you hadn’t pulled the trigger,” Bodie says lightly.

Doyle’s stomach does a funny flip and his chest fills with... _something_. “Ah, Bodie.” Doyle pulls him into a brief but tight embrace, revelling in how big and solid he feels.

“Just... don't ever hesitate, Doyle.” It comes out fiercer than Bodie intended, because he looks away quickly.

“I know... I’m sorry.”

Bodie looks back at Doyle with a frown. “That’s twice you've apologised in as many minutes, you feeling all right?”

“That’s your quota gone for the next year, mate, so make the most of it.”

“Oh... don't suppose there's any chance of breakfast in bed, then?” Bodie asks hopefully.

"Only if you're making it. Anyway, got a better idea than that...”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah... wouldn’t mind ravishing you...” Doyle says, giving Bodie one of his most seductive smiles, the one his partner reckons should come with a health warning.

“Think you’ll find it’s my turn to ravish you,” Bodie replies, a little huskily.

“Yeah, but who’s counting? Anyway, thought you liked being... the ravish-ee...”

“The what?”

“Being fucked, mate, but I was trying to spare your sensitive ears,” Doyle says. He lifts himself up on an elbow, and gently traces a hand over Bodie’s stomach. “You turning me down?”

“Never, mate, just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“Yeah...” Doyle glances down appreciatively at the unmistakable bulge beneath the covers, “I can see that...” Doyle edges his hand lower. “Very nice.”

Bodie pushes into his palm and Doyle squeezes gently, enjoying the hardness filling his hand, and the way his own body is rapidly playing catch up.

“And just for the record,” Bodie tells him, “I like you talking dirty.”

“Is that right...?”

“Yeah, dirtier the better.”

Doyle slides on top of Bodie and starts kissing his way down the muscular body. “You mean you like me telling you,” Doyle says in between kisses and soft bites he knows drive Bodie crazy, “how I’m gonna suck your cock...” he snakes lower, “...then rim your arse... getting you ready to take my big hard cock...” he inches lower still, “...which I’ll lube up... and slide into you... right up to the hilt...” Doyle’s own cock is aching now, “... then start fucking you hard... with long, deep thrusts-”

“Jesus,” Bodie gasps. “Sod the talking, just get on with it...”

Doyle doesn't always do what he's asked, but with Bodie naked beneath him, his cock hard and demanding, nudging at Doyle as he licks along Bodie’s hip bone, Doyle’s more than happy to comply. To be honest, it’s all he can do to stop himself from just driving straight into this body writhing with desire for him. Not that Bodie would object to that, but... Doyle wants to string it out a bit.

Later they’ll go out on the bikes, find that nice bit of road Bodie mentioned, ride hard and fast, and share the exhilaration of every moment as they fly along together, _alive_... but for now, Doyle has another way to chase Bodie’s shadows away.

The End


End file.
